#cursed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

everlastingdreams · 2 days ago

Text

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 20

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: No End And No Beginning

Notes: I am glad it isn't chapter 21 that I have to post on my bday lmao 🫣

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter: 20/47

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

After spending quite some time reading in your Mother’s journal, you became inspired to write in your own. It was already getting dark outside when you went and fished the ink and quill out from the wooden chest and put them on the ground near your cot. He never locked the chest anymore, hiding nothing from you. And of course you were tempted to look around in the chest a little more, finding nothing more than clothes, books and some basic necessities. The only secrets he kept must have been the ones inside his head. The clothes were put in the chest far from neatly, or perhaps he simply had no time to be careful when going through them when they were folded. It bothered you a bit and to pass the time, you knelt down in front of the chest and started to fold them, and by folding them more space became available for other items in the chest. At the second to last undershirt, you could feel your Fey instinct kick in stronger than it had ever before. His scent on the clothes was clouding your senses and you slowly lifted the shirt up to your nose. How could he smell this good? The instinct to keep inhaling his scent was tremendously strong.

“Gods…” you murmured against the fabric of it.

Maybe it was because of his Ash Folk blood, maybe you were going mad. And the voices of the Hidden in your ears were of no help, they seemed to encourage this odd behavior. You heard something behind you and quickly looked over your shoulder. There he stood, and for who knows how long he had been standing there watching you sniff his shirt. You could not have reacted more guilty when you dropped the shirt in the chest and tried to scramble up to your feet but ended up falling over on hands and knees instead. You gave up trying and plopped your behind down on the carpet floor.

In his eyes was a mixture of amusement, curiosity and quiet fascination. “What are you doing?”

You really wished he hadn’t asked. “I folded your clothes.”

He knew that you knew what he had been asking about. His eyes remained locked on you, watching you sit on the ground like a child caught in the midst of mischief. You tried to look at anything else but his face but felt his intense gaze on you nonetheless. This was embarrassing, and he clearly enjoyed seeing you flustered over it. When he slowly approached, you held your breath. He offered you his hand to help you up from the ground and you timidly accepted it.

For a moment longer he looked at you, a slight smile growing on his lips. “It is difficult, is it not? To ignore a scent that causes that pleasant sensation to run from your nose through your whole body. Similar to eating a meal that was craved for months.”

His explanation fitted your experience so well, but this also meant that he knew very well that his scent was causing you to experience it. You felt your face grow too warm under his curious gaze. His hand was wrapped around your lower arm, thumb slowly stroking over the sleeve of your jacket. Your eyes fell on his lips, tempted to find out what they would feel like against your own. It could change everything, it could ruin everything. He lived by the vow and if you would kiss him you knew it could upset him, what if he sought out the scourge because of it? It was not your decision to make, you had to respect the vow he upheld. You placed a hand over the one he had on your arm and let your gaze fall to the floor.

“Take off your jacket.” he suddenly said.

Your eyes widened. “What?”

He nodded down at it. “Your jacket, take it off.”

He took a small step back and held out his hand for it. You send him a questioning look while taking the jacket off and handing it to him.

A vague hint of the Sky Folk scent disturbed his nostrils. He had caught that scent before, but now it was so nearby that it had startled him.

He patted down the jacket and found the small pouch in the pocket.

“What is this?” He sought an explanation.

“Willow bark.” You took it from his hand and opened it for him to see, though you wondered if he could perhaps identify it by the scent already. “I found a sack under my cot, Gareth left it there for me to find.”

Realization hit him hard. “He was in the camp.” He grew more urgent. “Did he leave anything else for you?”

“Just a note.” you said.

He opened his mouth to speak but decided against it.

“You want to see the note.” you stated what was so obvious to see.

He seemed reluctant to say it out loud. You took the sack from under the cot again and took out the piece of parchment.

You put it right into his hand. “So you know you can trust me.”

He did not fold it open, just looked down at it. Then he held it out for you to take. “I need no proof to trust you.”

You flashed a cheeky grin. “Just read it. You know you want to.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, making you steal the note from his fingers.

“I’ll read it to you.” You took a large step away from him and unfolded the note. “Dear-” you pointed at yourself, “Every time I send you a note, your husband appears to be affected by it. Perhaps he should be a little less worried that you’ll run off with me and-”

The Monk was quick to catch up on the teasing and snatched that note from your fingers while you could barely hold in your soft laughter. He mumbled something under his breath, hesitated, then took a peek at the note.

He folded it again and tried to send you a scolding look, it failed miserably when he saw you grin back at him. “One might believe you enjoy receiving these notes.”

It slipped out of you, “Still worried I have an admirer?”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head slightly. “He clearly is. He cannot seem to stay away.” He gave you back the note. “I hope one day I will be able to explain to him how inappropriate it is.”

You hummed cheekily.

He knew you were on the verge of teasing him again. “We can wait here and see if he will come to visit you, or we can go out and practise the sword as you requested.”

It was an easy decision to make. “I’d prefer the practise.”

He put the note back in that sack and hid them in the wooden chest instead. Then he put the small pouch back in the pocket of your jacket and approached you with it. It dawned on you that he wanted to help you put the jacket back on and you eagerly let him.

Why did it bother him so to notice the man’s scent on you? It was ridiculous.

He took hold of your lower arm and led you out of the tent. “I have an idea to test your skill. Come.”

The Monk scanned over the area, searching for something. Finally he found what he was looking for in the form of a young looking paladin. “Brother Adam. I need your assistance. Follow us.”

You frowned at the Monk, he ignored it and proceeded to lead you and the paladin just out of the camp.

He turned to the paladin. “You are to test how well she can defend herself against you. But do not wound her.”

“With my sword?” The paladin blurted out his confused thought.

The Monk stared at him for a blink. “Yes. This will not be a battle of fists.” Then he turned to you, handing you his longsword to use. “Brother Adam has not been with us long, defend yourself against his attack. This spar stops the instant I tell it to stop. Understood?

He looked to you and the paladin expectantly and you gave a nod in agreement. Then he stepped back, clearing the way for the spar to begin. “No bloodshed.”

“Yes, Sir.” Brother Adam was already starting to sweat under the watchful eyes of the Monk.

With the given permission, you wasted no time to attack. Brother Adam had not expected you to be so enthusiastic with the task, he barely kept his footing when you lunged at his left side. The paladin looked at the Monk, questioning what he had been thrown into.

The Monk saw Brother Adam look. “If you can get her to the ground, I will see to it that you receive a reward.”

Oh? And what would your reward be if you got this paladin to the ground instead? The paladin grew more confident and struck your sword with his own so hard that you nearly dropped it. You fought to keep it in your hands and tried to push his sword away again when he locked his crossguard into yours to use his strength to try and push you down. What you didn’t expect was the paladin kicking the side of your lower leg to try and imbalance it, a pained yelp escaped you.

The Monk had taken a step forward, then halted. He tensed up but forced himself not to interfere.

You retaliated by hitting your forehead against Brother Adam’s face, something you had once seen Cassian do. It made you break apart from each other, both touching your own faces at the pain the attack had caused. You looked at the Monk who seemed rather impressed by your quick thinking. Then you saw his eyes flicker away, instinctively warning you of the impending danger. You moved to the side just in time to avoid being grabbed by the paladin, who then lunged at your side side with his sword in an attempt to disarm you. You blocked the sword with your own, caught his arm midway and jerked your knee up, it hit him in the lower abdomen and send him to his knees. He still tried to grab your leg, but you smacked his hand hard enough to make him regret even trying it.

The Monk ended the test. “That’s enough.”

It was fortunate for the paladin that he decided to end it, because you were contemplating on kicking his red brother in the face if he tried to grab you again. Brother Adam was frustrated by the defeat that even some of the other paladins had seen. With a simple tilt of his head, the Monk dismissed the paladin who was eager to leave the stares of his fellow red brothers.

The Monk took his sword back from your hands. “How is your head?”

“Scrambled. Again.” you deadpanned.

“Again?” he frowned.

You brought your voice down to a whisper, and touched your neck at the memory. “The one who tried to strangle me in the forest hit me to the ground beforehand.”

His eyes fell on the bruises on your neck. “Had I known, I would not have allowed this spar.”

The surge of adrenaline that victory offered was flowing through you. “But now I know that your lessons are helping me. It feels good!”

He noticed how you had carefully touched the bruises. “Do they hurt?”

Hearing him more concerned about your well-being instead of talking about the spar was something you still needed to get used to. “They’re just sore.”

He was aware of the stares of his red brothers and guided you away, back to his tent.

The second you entered that tent, you chatted away excitedly. “I got him to the ground! I can’t believe I did it! I thought he was going to slam me into the soil-”

He moved past you into the tent. “Where is your satchel?”

You dimmed down your excitement to answer him, “Under my cot. Why?”

He grabbed the satchel and found the nearly empty bowl of ointment inside of it. “Come here.” Once you were close enough to him, he made you take off your jacket and put it down on his cot. He took some ointment on his fingertips and reached for your neck, stopping when he saw the look in your eyes. “May I?”

You began to fidget with your sleeve a little. “Yes.”

He made you tilt your head to the side and applied the ointment on the bruised skin. “I know you can heal on your own, and that you are raised to suffer the pain, but it does not make it right. Let me carry your burdens, allow me to help.”

“Because you are my husband and consider it your duty?” you asked.

“No.” he said, swallowing hard. “Because I want to. I need you to be alright.”

You couldn’t form words anymore when he proceeded to caress along your neck with the knuckles of his fingers once he was content with the task of putting ointment on your bruises.

His voice was a mixture of gentle and fragile, “Do you understand?”

Deep down, you knew what he was trying to say without being able to say it. It could never be voiced, because of the vow, because of Father Carden…

Your eyes locked on his. “I understand.”

Relief fought with sorrow in his eyes, he forced them to the ground. “You sparred well.”

“Thank you.” You felt the shift in the atmosphere between you. “You promised Brother Adam a reward if he won. Will I get a reward?”

He gave a sympathetic look. “I cannot give you a sword.”

You pouted a little. “Some more ink that I can use?”

He gave a nod. “Very well.”

His put two fingers under your chin and lifted it just a little, looking once more at the bruises to see if all had been tended to. The silence that fell was loaded, he had withdrawn his hand but moved not an inch away. The both of you were trying to find something to say that could break the tension and release you from it’s hold.

You moved past him, grabbed your mother’s journal and sat down on his cot, patting the empty spot beside you to lure him. “Sit with me.”

A wave of nervousness washed from his shoulders down to his feet. Had he imagined it, or had your voice carried a certain sultriness meant to persuade him?

The Monk had lost his confident composure for a brief moment, he composed himself enough again to indulge your request. He sat down beside you and you skimmed through the pages of the journal for a little while, finally settling on a page with a passage you wanted to read out to him.

~“I smell the flowers far below my window outside, their scent offers me solace. I can smell my Little Ember as she sleeps in her cradle. Her marks may not be visible, but the scent of the Ash Folk is on her. It reminds me of home, of mother and father. And maybe, it reminds me of who I used to be before I was forced to forsake who I am.”~

You let him read along and leaned closer, he was quiet and waited for you to continue reading to him instead.

~“I do not want her to grow up and be the last of her clan left. I have not found one of my kind since I fled the cleansings. This cannot be, it cannot be the end of us?”~

A lump formed in your throat and you were quiet for a moment to regain the strength to read her thoughts out loud.

~“Our little ones, our little embers, meant to burn so strong. Their light extinguished before they could even begin. May the Hidden spare us from the Red Paladins.”~

You closed the journal, keeping it on your lap.

“Please…” The Monk barely dared to ask.

You knew what was being asked and took a deep breath before going through the pages again, your eyes landed on a passage in the midst of the journal.

~“As a young child, I always envied how the marks of the Ash Men were always more pronounced than those of the women. While women only saw their marks occasionally, the men loved to flaunt with them, knowing that the rare marks were seen as beautiful by all Fey. Before I was wed, I was nearly tempted by a man with marks that ran up to his temple. How different life could have been…” ~

When you wanted to close the journal again, he prevented it by quickly putting his hand between the pages.

“Wait. What does that say?” he looked at you pleadingly.

You opened it again and read.

~“His scent, I can still remember it. It still causes my heart to quicken. Had he not departed this life, I would not have been able to resist.”~

You closed the journal quickly and rose to your feet. “I think I’ve invaded my mother’s thoughts enough for today.”

He stared up at you with the eyes of a boy being denied attention, leaving him confused and slightly disappointed. You sat down on your own cot, stuffing the journal under your pillow.

“Little Ember.” he whispered and successfully stole your attention back. “You know what this means.”

“What?” You were a nervous wreck.

A devious smile graced his lips. “Unfortunately, your markings will never be as vibrant as mine.”

He was fast enough to block your pillow with his arm when you tried to hit him with it after his jest.

“Oaf!” You tried to hit him a second time.

He blocked it again, and when you tried again his battle-ready side awoke. The last thing you expected was to find yourself on your back on the cot, the Monk pinning your hand down next to your head, the pillow had dropped from your fingers to the ground. He used his free arm to support himself on your cot, leaving your other arm free. The scent of him fell over you like a cloak and you prayed he could not read your eyes.

Arrogance dripped from his tone, “You believe you can defeat me?”

You matched his tone. “I could. But I will spare you the humiliation.”

He looked down at you with high curiosity. “How would you get free from me now? Would you reach for your dagger?”

In strength he outmatched you, but there were other ways. You thought out your plan aloud. “I would distract you.”

“How?”

“With ways that would pollute the vow you took.”

He swallowed hard. You were tempted, so very tempted, but you did not cross the line that he had so carefully kept into place.

After a calming breath through his nose, he found his voice again. “If you find it difficult to ignore a scent as a half-blood, imagine what it must be like for me.”

You knew he was referring to the moment he caught you sniffing his clothes. Your heart was racing at an unholy pace. “I am not forbidding you from smelling my clothes either.”

He took seat on the cot, leaning over you still and keeping you as you were. With how alert he often was, he must have noticed the change in your eyes, and it felt impossible to hide just what was going through your head with him keeping you pinned to the cot. Would he know that you were not as innocent as they all believed you to be? Would he see it as a problem?

His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing as if he was piecing a puzzle together. His hand moved from your wrist to your elbow to pull you into a seated position swiftly. Your chest bumped into his arm and he did nothing to create a more appropriate distance, on the contrary, he kept you against him.

He was rather surprised by how submissive you acted now. “I had believed to be struck the moment I held you down on this cot.”

It was hard to not let your eyes fall down to his lips when he had you so close. “I was too distracted to even consider it.”

His hand wandered down over your arm, then carefully slid into your open jacket to rest on your waist. When no objection came from you, he brushed his hand over your waist tentatively, it was both a soothing and attentive gesture. You placed a hand over his, stroking your fingers along it to let him known you were not against this. Your other hand reached up to touch his neck where the collar of his surcoat allowed it.

His gaze was fixed on your face, but then he closed his eyes and shallowly shook his head. “I am sorry.”

“What for?”

He shook his head again, a pained expression formed on his face, he didn’t dare to meet your eyes again and stood up from the cot.

You caught his hand before he could even think to dart out of the tent. “Lancelot.”

“I…” He took a deep breath. “I should not be doing this.”

Guilt and want were at war with each other inside of him. One often gaining the upper hand against the other, only to be taken down again. Being near you made it so simple to forget the reality around him.

He stepped away, you let him go. He took off his cloak and dressed down to his undershirt in silence. You took your jacket off and put it on the foot of your cot, believing that he needed some time to collect himself. And when you covered yourself with your blanket, he came to sit down on his cot opposite of yours.

He cleared his throat. “If we were not wed, if Father had allowed you to choose, would you have-”

“Yes.” You knew what he was asking. “Knowing what I know now, I would have agreed to this marriage. Even though you uphold the vow you took, even though it will never be a marriage as others know it. Because I believe that this was the only way for me to know you, the only excuse to get close to you. And you’re worth it.”

The intensity of his eyes set your soul aflame, he truly had not expected the answer. He stretched his leg, hooking his foot under your cot and moving it closer to him that way. When it was close enough for him to reach, he leaned over and pulled it with his hand the rest of the way. You understood the intention behind it, and with one shared look you both stood up and moved the two cots against each other.

You stood next to him, looking down nervously at the make-shift bed. “What does the vow say about this?”

He was just as nervous, a timid boyish smile formed on his lips. “Considering we are wed, I believe some liberties are allowed?”

Your eyes squinted at him. “Liberties?”

There was a crack in his voice whilst he spoke, “We have slept like this before. Sleeping is not a sin.”

This was quite a liberty he was taking on the vow. And he had the worried look of a boy who was caught attempting mischief.

You flashed a shy smile at him, agreeing on the matter, “Sleeping is not a sin.”

When he did not move a muscle from uncertainty, you went and laid down on your cot again to make yourself comfortable for the night. “Should I expect advances to be made to me?”

Almost did you regret the tease, because he looked so innocent and flustered when he realized what you were asking. He always seemed to lose that confident demeanor the moment matters became personal like this. And somehow his reaction to it awakened the desire in you to lure him out of his shell.

He stammered the answer, “I would not impose myself-”

You stopped him before he caused himself anymore anxiety, “Lancelot. Come sleep.”

Your hands were trembling ever so little at the way he was looking at you, you had to look away. His cot was almost against the wall of the tent and he had to move between them carefully to lay down on it. While he chose to lay on his back, staring up at the top of the tent, you moved to lay on your side to look at him.

“Tell me, when you are not here, what is filling your days?” you wondered out loud.

He sighed at the thought. “Father has me searching for the Wolf-Blood Witch. She and her allies took over Gramaire, they slaughtered our Brothers.”

You hummed. “I would be lying if I said I was not impressed with her.”

He didn’t blame you for thinking that way. “Father is under pressure from the Pope, he has made his dismay known to me.”

“Carden is putting that pressure on you, I can tell.” You placed a hand on his arm. “Are you worried he will cast you away if you do not meet his expectations?”

A pause. “Yes.”

It didn’t seem likely. “He won’t. He knows there is no one like you.”

He shook his head. “He has you. And when he casts me away, he will keep you.”

It was a terrible realization. The thought that you would be alone in this was awful. “And the Pope won’t question Father Carden on that?”

He slowly turned his head to look at you. “Father lets his pride cloud his judgment at times, I fear when the time comes that he will not be bothered by the Pope’s disapproval.”

You let your gaze fall away, fixing it on his sleeve.

He guessed your trail of thought. “If such a thing were to happen, I would not leave you behind. I would do anything in my power to make it right again.”

You scooted closer, embracing his arm and resting your head on it a little. “And by ‘right’ you mean seek forgiveness from Father Carden…”

He had heard the pinch of disappointment. “There is no place for me other than this. This is what I was raised for.”

Father’s words often haunted him, spoken to him when he had been so young and frightened.

~“Remember, boy. I am your shelter. There is no place for you without me.”~

There was no safety or certainty without the shelter he had been given. No place or future other than being at Father’s side. He was known across the land and enemies were longing to end his life.

You whispered to him, “It may be what you were raised for, but that doesn’t mean it is your destiny.”

He was quiet for a while as he looked up. You could only try and offer a helping hand, a listening ear, in the end it was still his choice whether or not he would accept them.

When the silence remained, you knew he preferred to end this conversation before it would keep him awake all night. “Goodnight, Lancelot.”

He turned his head again, his breath brushing over your forehead. “Goodnight.”

The warmth you felt in your chest told you that your attachment to the Ash Man had grown beyond the limit you had set for it. Your heart had let him in after being empty for so long, it’s fragile walls bound to crumble when you finally allowed yourself to accept that this could never be, not in the way you wanted it to. Even with that knowledge ruining your peaceful thoughts, you fell asleep holding his arm wrapped in yours. That little hope inside was more than you had felt in years, and it was worth holding on to.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Under the night’s sky, surrounded by the forest, he found himself standing in wait. Awaiting something, no, someone’s presence, willing them to come. The soft melody that was their voice called upon his name.

~“Lancelot?”~

He turned towards the sound, eyes setting on your face. A dress nearly translucent swayed around your body with every taken step that closed the distance. A set of eyes that provided him endless transfixation. You came closer and closer, invading all his senses, and he let himself drown in the dream that was you. A touch to his chest, those gentle eyes pleading for his own. Your name fled his lips, a prayer, a plea.

~“My Lancelot…”~

His head tilted into the touch of your hand to his cheek. He could not touch, could not let himself be tempted to force everything he had worked for into ruins.

~“Lancelot?”~

Your touch trailed over his neck, he was drawn in closer, leaning in to receive what could damn his soul. He could not do this, he couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to.

~“You want me…”~

Your lips were so close, taunting his, he did not dare say a word. They were a siren’s call and his soul was willing to drown for them.

~“I will never want you the way you want me.”~

The heavens came down upon him, suffocating his heart cruelly. His arms were pressed to his sides, his hands balled into fists. He wanted to close his eyes, to shut you out. He wanted to keep them open, to see those eyes that carried the marks of the Ash Folk underneath them. They were lighter, less defined then his own, and they were beautiful. Their lines ran over your cheeks, accentuating your eyes even though they did not need more to hold his attention.

~“You do want me, don’t you?”~

You curved your body against his, grazing your fingers along his neck and into the back of his hair. Your lips touched his throat and must have felt it bop when he swallowed.

~“Tell me, Lancelot. Tell me what you want.”~

Your lips were a beacon in the darkness, calling him. His hands had cradled your head and felt how you put yourself at their mercy. His nose grazed along yours. He wanted you with him, he told you while he barely withheld from committing sin.

~“So pious… so righteous.”~

Something was wrong. Blood was dripping down on his boots. The dagger he had given you was lodged into his chest, your hand still wrapped around the pommel. He wanted you with him still.

~“A sinner. Damned.”~

He sank to his knees into the puddle of blood. His vision darkened, yet you seemed to glow. He wanted you still.

~“Why?”~

You held up your palms, small green flames came to life inside of them. He reached for you, he always reached for you.

~“My Dark Angel.”~

It was how the Hidden called to him. Your voice had turned into their haunting whispers. Bleeding and on his knees, he reached out to stop you from fleeing into the darkness of the woods. You slipped from his hands, stolen by the darkness that swallowed him after.

~“Liar!”~

Lancelot jolted awake, body shaking off the dream until his eyes set on the real part of it, you that still slept peacefully. He did not even inspect his chest to find a dagger lodged into it, all that mattered was that you had not vanished into the darkness. All that mattered was that you were still there. His conscience was tormenting him. Servitude forbade him from speaking the truth. He knew that once he did, you would see him as the monster that he was. And all of it in the name of duty…

His nightmares were perhaps better than the nightmare he lived.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @crystallizedtime @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart @5am-cigarette @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream @coloursforyourportrait @koressecretidentity @nike90 @n1ghtlux @rachlovesactors @luckyzipperscissorsbat @morena-doing-stuff @the-fangirl-diaries @gipsydanger17 @heavenly1927 @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies @stclairesplace @katjusja @isla-bell-blog @beebeerockknot @sahvlren @lancedoncrimsonwings @weird123abc @elizabeth-holland24 @kissingandromeda

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story. Using this old list from the previous fic.

#weeping monk #cursed netflix #weeping monk x reader #lancelot x reader #the weeping monk #cursed #weeping monk x you #cursed lancelot #the weeping monk x reader #lancelot

24 notes · View notes

everlastingdreams · 3 days ago

Text

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 19

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Chapter Title: A Promise Of Happiness

Notes: /

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter: 19/47

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“No!” The Monk raised his voice. Letting the stoic mask slip and fall.

Father Carden slowly turned to him, even the paladins grew nervous at the rising tension between the Monk and the priest.

Father Carden was not amused in the slightest. “You dare defy me again, after what you did today?”

When the Monk took a step in your direction, Father Carden roughly grabbed hold of his sleeve and made him face him. “Kneel!”

The Monk was hesitant for two counts, he knelt only to avoid the situation from spiraling further out of his control. “Forgive me, Father.”

The priest seemed to calm down a bit. “You have insulted me, my son. You abandoned the battlefield.”

The Monk tilted his head down in submission. A silence passed between them. It felt like the priest wished for him to feel how strong his power over this situation was.

“I should command you to strike her.” Father Carden spoke through his teeth. “A husband should keep her in her place.”

The Monk snapped his eyes up to him but quickly averted them again. You hated to see how much power Carden held over the Monk, and he loved to make it clear again and again.

He tried to convince Father to be lenient. “We understand what must be done, we know evil takes many forms. She has yet to learn.”

The priest looked at you for a moment, then looked back at the Monk. “She must learn that we are cleansing evil from the lands.”

The Monk gave a slow nod. “She will learn, Father. Spare her from the scourge, grant her your mercy.”

It dawned on you that he was begging for you to be spared from the suffering, without being able to show much compassion.

“Mercy?” Father Carden questioned.

He was able to sound much calmer than he truly was. “She could have fled, but she returned to us. And now she has chosen to face the scourge by your wish.”

If he could convince Father that you accepted your punishment, Father would see it as the beginning of your conversion to the Church.

The priest hummed. “Perhaps another punishment would suffice.” He looked at you. “You choose to face the scourge yourself, girl?”

You stood by your decision. “Yes.”

Father Carden turned to the Monk and spoke to him condescendingly, “Hear that? She is braver than you. Willing to suffer to spare you of it!”

This had been a test. One you had passed. Whilst he had failed Father today.

The Monk tilted his head down, unable to voice his thoughts out loud.

“For that I will spare you from the scourge, girl.” Father Carden said. “The sky told me there will be a storm tonight. The heaven will cleanse you of your wrong doing.” He commanded the paladins, “Bring her to the room.”

They sprung into action right away and walked off with you.

“She does not leave the room before dawn. Understood?” He warned the Monk.

“Yes, Father.”

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

The room they brought you to could barely be called such. It was on the ground floor of the monastery, a large part of the roof was missing and the windows were sealed shut by wooden planks nailed to them. It was completely empty. This was what the priest had meant with the heavens cleansing you, a night in the wind and rain, and without your jacket that they had confiscated to make it worse for you. You had taken place in a corner of the room where some of the roof still protected you from the rain, but the cold wind pierced through your clothes without mercy. Even when the stars presented themselves between the clouds, sleeping felt impossible. The cold was causing your muscles to cramp up.

You heard the lock of the door turn, the Monk stepped into the room. In his hands was the sheet from his bed and your cloak.

When he saw the curious look aimed at him, he spoke, “Father said you are not to leave this room before dawn. He said nothing of you having to be alone.”

You looked to the floor and stayed silent. He slowly got closer, kneeling down just a few steps away, some rain landed on him. “Why did you not send me to the scourge? You know I can handle the pain.”

“I know.” Was all you said, keeping your eyes away from him.

He put the cloak and sheet down next to you and reached out to touch your hand, which moved away before he could.

He had publicly disobeyed Father, but no punishment could be worse than the look he saw in your eyes in the forest and even now. The scourge would have been mercy.

“I hate it here.” you whispered more to yourself.

He hoped to console you. “At dawn, I will take you out of this room.”

Your tone was flat, uncaring, “I meant this whole place.”

The Monk fell silent and moved to sit right next to you, and when you tried to move away his hand wrapped around your elbow.

His voice was a fragile whisper, “I did not partake in the cleansing.”

You refused to look at him while quietly speaking your opinion, “You consider the paladins and Father Carden your people, you watched them murder those Feys. You might not have partaken today, but you’re guilty nonetheless for standing by and letting it happen. Because you believe that killing the Fey is saving them from evil. If they are truly evil, how come they are the ones running whilst your red brothers chase them down? They beg for mercy, for life, and they are burned for it. If this is to earn salvation, I’d rather be damned.”

He was so quiet now and you were too curious not to look at his face. What you saw was not something you expected, he was looking at the closed-off window, his eyes haunted. Could it be that not all hope was truly lost for him? Was his conscience tormenting him more than you knew? You hadn’t noticed until now how pale he looked and the concern won over your anger.

“What did Father Carden say about you leaving for the monastery without him?” you carefully asked.

He looked at his hands, folding them together, and his shoulder gave a slight shrug. Nothing good had been said between them tonight, that much was certain.

“Lancelot…” you touched his arm lightly.

His gaze went to your hand right away. “It does not matter.” He began to fidget with his hands, then a soft scoff fell out of him. “I do not deserve your concern. You deserve better than this.”

You reached for him and slowly snaked your index finger between his hands until you could steal one for yourself, scooting closer to him, your arm touched his. “We both deserve a better life.”

When your eyes met, you fell at the mercy of the depth of his. Even when sickly pale, his features were strikingly beautiful and it was hard to look away.

“We could leave. Together.” you whispered. “And find a place for us, somewhere where we can build our own life.”

His mouth opened a little, he encapsulated your hand with his own, breathed out a shaking breath. “I cannot…”

It hurt him to say it. It hurt to know that such a life was not an option for him. Father needed him and he would never forgive him if he’d leave.

“But would you want to?” you searched his eyes. “Another place, another life, with me.”

He tried to speak but the words got stuck in his throat, he drew a deep breath. An answer did not come, but you did not regret asking. He took the cloak from next to you and handed it to you. You put the cloak on whilst he grabbed the sheet and draped it over your legs. After pulling the hood on over your head, you grabbed the edge of the sheet and draped half of it over his legs as well. He tensed up when you leaned against him more, using him as something soft to relax against.

“You forgot the pillow.” you mumbled quietly.

He breathed out with a small smile. “Forgive me.”

You hummed, watching the rain drops hit the floor not far from your feet.

He resisted placing a hand on your arm when he finally answered the question you had asked him. “Another place or life… as long as you are with me I am content.”

It was tearing you apart, to finally have someone who cared about you but who was blinded by the hatred a priest had poisoned him with since childhood. Still, there were changes in him and it gave you a little more hope that the Hidden had a reason for convincing you to stay with him.

You decided to voice your conflict, “I am torn between my conscience and wanting you near. I am betraying my heritage by being friends with the man who is also the Weeping Monk.”

As he was torn between obeying Father, and wanting to protect you from the man.

He was understanding. “I will understand if you wish to distance yourself from me.”

You closed your eyes, resting your head against his shoulder. “I don’t want that.” You could hear him let out a breath of relief. “Thank you for not letting that paladin strangle me. I know it can’t have been easy to choose to save me.”

Quite the contrary. It should not have been so simple for him to choose your life over the one of his Brother, but it was. Seeing his Brother trying to kill you had made him aim the bow instantly, and never had he considered for it to just be a warning arrow.

The Monk was quiet for a moment, then you felt him turn his head, his chin lightly touching the top of your head.

“Father would have the skin struck off my bones if he knew.” he quietly said.

“I’ll never tell them.” you promised.

The Monk hummed content. “Your mother’s journal is in my room. I was able to go and fetch it before we left for the monastery.”

It was a relief to hear. “Did you read it?”

“No. I believe you will tell me if there is something you wish to share of it?” he sounded hopeful.

You made a suggestion. “When I can, I’ll see if I can find something written in it that might be interesting to you too.”

He was glad to hear that. “Thank you.”

Another comfortable silence fell, you felt the invisible pull of sleep creep up on you.

“You killed no one today?” you dared to whisper.

“Only Brother Piers.” he answered.

You wanted to believe him so much. “Swear it.”

He sounded firm on that, “I swear it.”

Inside, you prayed there was hope, that his conscience would one day be stronger than his loyalty to Father Carden. “I… please don’t say anything, just hear me.” When he said nothing, you quietly spoke, “I know your loyalty to Father Carden is important to you, I know your religion is too. I just want you to know that if the day ever comes when you wish to walk away from the life you have now, that I will be there waiting for you.”

He took a deep breath, “I-”

You stopped him. “Don’t… I know what you’ll say. Just remember what I just told you, that’s all I ask.”

He wanted to tell you to not ruin your hope on him, nor the kindness your heart often displayed. But something in your voice made it impossible for him to do so, your tone had carried a hope so fragile that he couldn’t bring himself to shatter it.

“I will remember.” he promised.

Your whisper was so very quiet, you doubted he could even hear, “We could be happy…”

He turned his head upon feeling the reaction inside himself rise to the surface. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, if he were to speak you would hear his voice break. He blinked away the threatening tears. How could what you have said have such an effect on him…?

“Sleep well.” you said, pulling the sheet higher up your body.

He swallowed hard before bidding you a ‘good night’ as well.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

During the night, the cold had not bothered you as much as you thought it would, it sure helped that the Monk’s body heat offered some comfortable warmth to your own. Through the ruins of the roof you could see the sun rise over the land and you knew you had to wake him before they would find him here like this, under a sheet with you. You stood up, but knelt down beside him. Some of the hood of his cloak had fallen across his face, covering the left side of it, you moved it aside a little and began to tap against his cheek with tip of your index finger. At the third tap your finger stayed on his cheek and you couldn’t resist tracing the tear-like mark that ran down it. They were so similar to your own and yet different, the color and shape of them were more defined. Maybe yours would have been too if you had been a full-blooded Fey like him. The whispers in your ear were oddly encouraging your curiosity towards him. You froze when he let out a sound that notified you that he was waking up. With his eyes still closed he touched his face and found your hand, he was quick to wake then.

A pair of widened eyes were looking back at him, a pinch of timidness in them. Your touch to his marking had woken him, it had caused a pleasant tingling sensation to wake in it. And for a moment, in his still drowsy state, he had wanted to ask to continue what you had been doing to cause it.

You pulled your hand back slowly, clearing your throat. “I thought I’d wake you before they find you here like this and use it to feed their rumors.”

The Monk was so very slow to react, he showed no intention to get up. You grew nervous under the intensity of the gaze he aimed up at you, and he knew it. You rose to your feet.

He barely moved his eyes away when he finally decided to get up from the floor, and came closer to hand you the sheet. “I will bring you back to my quarters and collect you later, I will have something for you.”

“Are you trying to make me forget what happened yesterday?” you wondered. “Because I can’t.”

He gave an understanding nod. “I know. And I am grateful for your civilness. It cannot be simple for you to continue to be kind towards me after yesterday.”

You gave a small nod.

“I…” he struggled to say what he so wanted to say, “I will teach you all I know about how to survive and give you all you need for it. And once I find a place where you can go and be safe, I will ensure that you will have the life you deserve. Just give me the time to plan it all.”

It was unexpected to hear. “Father Carden would never let that happen.”

He sounded firm on his decision. “Do not concern yourself over how he will respond. Your suffering must end.”

You took note of how close he was standing. “Where is this coming from?”

He cast his gaze to the ruined floorboards. “I could not bear to see the look in your eyes in the forest yesterday. I will not let you become what I am. Enough is enough. I will find a way to give you your freedom. I swear it.”

The thought that he would stay behind and carry the consequences worried you greatly. “He will punish you for it.”

He shook his head slowly, “Let me carry his rage. You are my wife, it is my duty to stand between you and any threat.”

You placed a hand on his arm. “You are far too eager to carry the suffering of those around you. I worry for you. I don’t want you to be harmed… I don’t want you to get into more trouble. I have seen how he is when he is angry-”

Words failed you when he cupped your cheek and did the same gesture you had done moments ago. His thumb traced down over where your marking beneath your eye hid under the surface of your skin.

“It is time,” he said, voice warm and deep, “-that you think of yourself first. I will be alright.”

That light in your eyes would die out if he did not start to save it now. He just needed time to figure out how to do this without angering Father to the point of no resolution. He needed time… there had to be another way. Or was he selfish to believe that all would be well after… what he was doing…

His thumb brushed over your cheek slowly as his gaze dropped lower.

You felt the nervousness climb up into your throat. “You look at me like you want to kiss me…”

He could not even look up from your lips when he spoke, “I won’t…”

You realized he was not even denying that it, the second realization that sank in was that you might even want the same.

The Monk withdrew his hand and stepped away. “We should go.”

A hum in agreement was all you could manage to bring out and it dawned on you a second later that he was waiting for you to go to the door with him, so you did. Just as he raised his hand to knock on the door for it to be unlocked, you touched it.

“Thank you for not letting me go through this night alone.” you gave him a soft smile.

“I have always hated this room.” he swallowed. “As a boy, I have spend more nights here alone than I’d like to remember.”

So this room was used as punishment for all who wronged Father Carden. But it must have been worse to go through this as a child. You let him knock on the door, and after waiting a little after the second time the door opened. The Monk was the first to go and step out, but something stopped him and made him step backwards into the room again. First a paladin entered the room, then Father Carden who was followed by two more paladins.

The Monk took on a submissive stance right away, head tilted down in respect. “Father.”

Father Carden directed himself to him right away. “I do not recall asking you to keep watch over her while she was in here.”

You were trying to think of something to help the Monk before the priest would submit him to his fury again, the last thing you wanted was to see him be struck for it. “I was the one who asked him to stay. My father is still trying to get me back, I do not like to be alone when sellswords can just find their way into this monastery.”

The Monk’s eyes snapped to you when Father Carden turned to speak to you instead.

“Your father, nor anyone he sends for you, will succeed in their endeavour.” the priest said. “You were send to this room because you chose to carry the punishment for what happened yesterday. The road to God’s garden begins with us willing to carry the weight of our sins, and surrendering to the judging of them. I see a future for you here, I hope you see it too.”

You bit your tongue and acted as submissive as the Monk, tilting your head down, fooling the priest into believing you were an easy prey. The Monk was watching with silent interest, he must have known this was nothing more than an act to stay out of trouble.

Father Carden returned his attention to the Monk again. “Now that the matter with Abbot Odel has been settled. We return to the camp, we have lost enough time. Give her what we have discussed.”

“Yes, Father.” The Monk kept his head down.

Father Carden walked out of the room, the paladins followed him out. You looked at the Monk curiously.

“What are you supposed to give me?” you whispered.

He took hold of your arm and walked with you out of the room. “I will show you.”

The Monk first stopped at his quarters to grab your mother’s journal. They had also brought your jacket to the room so you were able to put it on again, it was a comfortably warm combination with your cloak. Then he brought you all the way to the stables. He put the journal in Goliath’s saddle bag, then moved to another stallion who stood a little off in the corner. Some paladins walked past you out of the stables with their horses, and you had to press yourself against the wall to avoid one of them walking into you by ‘accident’, you cussed him out under your breath. The Monk, beckoned for you to come closer and you did.

“He’s yours.” He stroked the stallion’s neck.

It was surprising to hear. “Mine?”

You stared at the white stallion covered with black spots in his coat.

He gave a nod. “Father gave permission. What will you name him?”

“Old knave.” you turned your head away to try and hide the grin.

The Monk understood the jest a second later, he sighed, “I meant the horse.”

“Oh.” You saw him give a scolding look, but couldn’t stop grinning. “How about ‘Lancelot’ then? Just to shock your red brothers when I’d tell them that I like to ride-”

“Stop.” He was looking around himself, his face flushing.

You snorted a laugh at his terribly flustered reaction. “I will refrain from making crude jests then.”

It took him a few seconds before he could bring himself to look at you again, and when he did he saw just how hard you were trying not to laugh.

“That color looks good on you.” you pointed up at his face a little.

He realized right away that you were just blatantly teasing him, he averted his eyes and looked at the paladins just outside the stable doors instead. “Choose a name.”

You decided to dance on a dangerous line. “‘Gareth’ then?”

His eyes snapped to your face right away. “No.”

In all honesty, you didn’t expected him to even verbally reject that choice of name. You failed terribly to hide your smile. “Why not?”

This was vengeance for his rude interrogation of you about the stranger. He must have known.

Those weeping eyes had locked yours in. “You know why.”

“No. I don’t.” you lied. “Tell me, why not?”

He tilted his head, scolding you with his eyes. “Father would not approve of the fact that you would name your horse after the man who killed our men.”

Alright, he had a point there… but it was clearly not the true reason why he was so opposed to it.

“I’ll name him ‘Bear’.” you decided.

“Bear?”

“Yes. Bear.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Confusion washed over his face, then acceptance. “Very well. Get into the saddle, I expect we will be leaving for the camp any moment now.”

The Monk went to Goliath and brought him closer to tie the reins to Bear’s. You hoisted yourself into the saddle, Bear stayed surprisingly still and unbothered by it all. Goliath seemed to wonder why you had chosen another horse.

The Monk noticed how his horse was looking at the situation and brushed a hand along the stallion’s neck to sooth him. “Fear not, Goliath. She has enough affection to give for both.”

You reached over and brushed through Goliath’s manes. “That is true.”

He led the horses out of the stables with the reins. Once outside your attention was drawn to a wagon arriving, paladins hurried over to help, but help was far too late for the deceased paladins that they found on the wagon. The Monk leaded you along with the horses to where Father Carden was asking the only living paladin riding the wagon what had happened.

The paladin was in shock, his robes were torn and bloodied. “We were attacked when we were returning here.”

“Fey?” Father Carden asked.

“Not all.” The paladin wiped some blood from his head with his sleeve. “But they were all sellswords. The Lord of Ravenwick set an ambush in the forest. They put this parchment on top of Brother Frederick’s body.”

A rolled up piece of parchment was handed to Father Carden who promptly began to read it, then he beckoned for the Monk and handed it to him. The Monk read what was written and everyone could see how tense he became.

The priest let him keep the letter. “Do not let her out of your sight. Kill anyone who poses a threat.”

“Yes, Father.” The Monk was pleased to be given the command.

“We will put an end to his crimes against us once we are back at camp.” Father Carden grumbled whilst walking away.

The Monk rolled the parchment up again and stored it into Goliath’s saddle bag, then hoisted himself into the saddle and steered the horses away from the wagon and towards the large group of paladins who were preparing everything for the ride back to camp.

You looked back at the wagon filled with corpses. “This was my father’s doing?”

The Monk gave a nod. “They were the ones who were send to Ravenwick to collect your father for judgment.”

“He had them slaughtered.” It was to be expected, your father never forgot a grudge.

He used the reins to make you ride closer to him. “Don’t be afraid. He will never get close to you again.”

You weren’t so sure of that. “Forgive me for not believing that. I know my father, he will never let this go. He will avenge Cassian’s death or die trying.”

“Then he will die.” he said.

He was given quite a look from you after that. You had heard the barely contained fury under that statement.

“What is in that letter?” you asked.

“Do not worry.” he said.

You wanted to press the matter, but you were already too close to the group of paladins and decided to wait for another moment.

“Is it no longer necessary to bind my wrists?” You held up a hand.

He made not a secret of it. “Father is testing you.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course that priest was still playing these cruel mind games of his. “And if I were to ride off?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I doubt Bear will be strong enough to pull Goliath along.”

You noticed the intonation he put on the name. “Why do you say Bear’s name like that?”

He arched a brow at you, smirking. “Why did you call a horse ‘Bear’ ?”

You shot him a glare, he was doing it just to get on your nerves. “Shut up.”

He turned his head the other way to avoid laughing, then tilted it down to hide his smile from his red brothers as if it was something shameful. Once he had composed himself he ordered the paladins to mount their horses and the journey back to camp began.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

It was past midday when they arrived back at their camp. They had taken another route again to avoid being predictable to enemies. You were brought back to his tent by the Monk, and after spending the night in a ruined room you were oddly glad to see your cot again. Your own journal still laid on it, and the Monk handed you your mother’s journal the moment you sat down. He then went to the wooden chest and fished the dagger out that he had gifted you.

He approached, leaned down, and folded open your jacket to put the dagger in the small leather loop he had attached on the inside. “I want you to keep this on you at all times.”

You were starring at how he had been so bold to just open your jacket and lean up into your space instead of just handing you the dagger. “Why the sudden urgency for it?”

He sat down on his own cot across from you, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword, something he always did when he was getting nervous. He had not said a word of what Aldith had written in that message, but you could see the storm it had caused to appear in his eyes.

You were determined to learn what was being kept from you. “I want to read what my father has written in that letter.”

He shook his head. “It will only upset you.”

It did little to dissuade you. “Do not hide these things from me, Lancelot. I know my father well, I know he will not have written anything kind. I need to know.”

He pondered on it for a moment longer before obliging. “I shall return in a moment.”

You realized he must have left the letter in Goliath’s saddlebag and gave a nod in understanding. He left the tent and returned minutes later, the rolled up parchment was scrunched up into his hand and you suspected he had read it again just before returning. His mood had taken a clear dive, which he tried to hide. You held out your hand for the letter and he reluctantly handed it over. It was then that you noticed your name written on the outer side of it. By breathing in deeply through your nose you steadied your nerves and folded the parchment open.

~“I hope this letter finds you well. By marrying a monk you have proven yourself desperate to remain out of my hands. You owe me a debt and a life. Run from me all you want, I will haunt your every breath. All who stand in my way shall meet their end by my will. Fail to pay your debt and I will let you bleed out alone, just like your mother when she betrayed me. Your husband, who I believe aided you in murdering my son, will suffer the same fate.

A raven never forgets.”~

You swallowed hard, letting the threats sink in. Slowly the Monk sat down beside you on your cot and took the parchment from your fingers.

He placed his hand over one of your own. “He will not touch you. You are safe here.”

You shook your head. “You don’t know my father. You don’t understand how far he will go. You’re in danger too, he knows Cassian is dead because of us.”

“It will be alright.” he tried to offer some comfort.

“No. It won’t be. He’ll come after you or send more of his men to do it.” You moved your hand away. “None of this will be alright.”

He placed his hand on your back instead. “I made you a promise. You will have your freedom. Let me handle this problem.”

Your voice shook, “He’ll kill you…”

He was used to being threatened daily. “He can try. But I have no intention to leave you a widow so soon.”

He rose to his feet whilst letting his hand glide over your back before withdrawing it, he folded his hands together behind his own back.

“They are expecting you?” you guessed.

He wasn’t eager to leave. “I should be back tonight. Father will have this tent more guarded as a precaution.

It was to be expected that he needed to return to his duties. “When you’re back, will you grant me another lesson with the sword?”

He tilted his head a little. “Of course. I could not deny such a polite request.”

You got up from the cot and close to him. “It’s nice not to feel like I am going through this alone. I am grateful that you sacrificed your chance to sleep in your warm bed to spend it in that cold ruined room with me instead.”

He was trying to read your eyes, especially when you placed a hand on his upper arm.

When you had collected enough courage, you gave a quick kiss to his cheek. “Be careful out there.”

All he could do was nod whilst staring at you, behind his back his hands were holding on to one another for dear life. His gaze changed, the transition of it was slow enough for you to notice, from surprise to quiet warm appreciation. And you wondered if he was even aware of how similar his eyes were to the color of the sky in spring just as the sky begins to darken. You were staring, it took a moment to realize it and look down. He was still not moving, as if his feet had grown roots in the carpet underneath. You dared to meet his eyes again and saw that they were still trying to study your expression, searching for something you did not know of.

Finally, he slowly stepped away and towards the exit of the tent. “I will see you tonight?”

It had sounded like he was worried you would try to flee the camp. “Preferably.”

A smile crept on his face, and with a respectful nod he left the tent. You turned around to go back to your cot only to notice a shadow under it. Out of curiosity you walked up to it and knelt down, finding a small brown woven sack that you pulled out from under it. Had the Monk put it there? Was it meant for you or…? Upon opening it the first thing you saw was a piece of parchment with a written note on it.

~“Still alive, Dear? I heard Aldith is out for blood. I hope the contents of this pouch will offer you some aid when need for it arises.

-Gareth.”~

It said a lot about the paladins defenses if this man could just stroll into their camp and leave you gifts and letters. You took the small pouch out of the sack and inspected it’s contents. It was some white willow bark, a helpful matter against pain. If someone had given you this back in Ravenwick, you would have considered them a good friend that very moment. You decided to save it all for a time when it would be the only help you had, and put the pouch into the pocket of your jacket. Because, for now, you had the reassurance that the Monk would do all that was necessary to keep you alive. It was a comforting knowledge that you never thought you would have one day.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks �� @slytherlight @beananacake @crystallizedtime @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart @5am-cigarette @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream @coloursforyourportrait @koressecretidentity @nike90 @n1ghtlux @rachlovesactors @luckyzipperscissorsbat @morena-doing-stuff @the-fangirl-diaries @gipsydanger17 @heavenly1927 @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies @stclairesplace @katjusja @isla-bell-blog @beebeerockknot @sahvlren @lancedoncrimsonwings @weird123abc @elizabeth-holland24 @kissingandromeda

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story. Using this old list from the previous fic.

#weeping monk #cursed netflix #weeping monk x reader #cursed #the weeping monk #lancelot x reader #weeping monk x you #cursed lancelot #the weeping monk x reader #lancelot

24 notes · View notes